Under the Alaskan Ice (Alaska Wild #2) - Karen Harper Page 0,3
him. It could be so damn lonely out here in the wilds, in the “Great Alone” of Alaska. But loneliness could occur anywhere and anytime, even on a big family holiday with people around like he’d had earlier at his brother’s house in Seattle before flying back.
As he coasted a little closer to the frozen shingle shore, he felt happy to have someone here to meet him, even strangers.
CHAPTER TWO
Wearing snowshoes, the woman and the boy came to meet him along the frozen shore where he nosed the plane in. He waved once, then started tossing his diving gear out onto the snow. Though time was precious, he shook their hands and told the mother and son, “Thanks for staying around. I can use some help suiting up to get out there fast.”
“Yes, anything we can do,” the woman said.
She had a melodic voice, even with those few words. Well, he always sized people up too fast. She had a pretty face too, was maybe in her midthirties like him.
“Good landing!” the boy, maybe five or six years old, said.
He told them, “I need to get into my dry suit ASAP. Gonna strip down to my thermal wick underwear while you lay that bundled rubber suit out for me. Also, could you uncoil that long rope?” he added, pointing.
“Oh, yes, sure,” the woman said and bent immediately to unwrap his black neoprene dry suit while he took off his down jacket and jeans. He could have done that inside the plane right now, but it would have taken longer and she wasn’t looking, though the boy was. He seemed to be studying his face, his every move. It felt familiar—Bryce used to be curious about everything his grandpa did, since the old man was his boyhood hero.
He was glad he already wore what people always thought was long underwear. He pulled on his thermal insulation outfit over that, and the woman—had his contact said her name was Peg?—assisted.
She perfectly followed his orders, helping him shove his legs and arms in, tug the chest zipper closed, then check the seals at the neck, wrists and ankles. She even handed him his rubber dive booties and fins as if she’d done this before. He hefted and secured his air tank, which seemed so heavy here but would be so light underwater.
Last, she watched him adjust his hard shell helmet with his mounted light attached, then handed him his flashlight on a cord as if he’d asked for it.
She had incredible blue eyes, darker than his. She was very nervous but seemed steady.
“You’re a big help,” he said as she handed him his mask. “I’m Bryce,” he said almost as an afterthought.
“They told me. I’m Meg—Megan Metzler, and this is my son, Chip.”
“Nice to meet you. Gotta go. I’m praying the pilot or anyone inside has an air pocket. I’m going to knot the rope around my plane’s pontoon so I don’t get lost down there. Dark under ice where it’s deep and wreckage can drift.”
“And this lake water’s murky even in the summer. Glacial runoff from the falls,” she told him. She must live near here.
He nodded. “There should be help coming from Anchorage, hopefully soon. You two just stay back from that hole where it went in. I’m leaving my plane open so you can get in for a windbreak. There’s coffee and doughnuts inside. Stay warm and safe.”
“I understand. Thanks,” she called after him as he bent to tie the guide rope on the plane, then shuffled like an old man out onto the ice toward the jagged hole. From here the ice looked over two feet thick. The hole was about as big as his living room in Juneau.
He saw no sign of the sunken plane but remembered his contact had said the woman had even described the make of the plane that crashed. His contact had also said he knew who she was, the widow of a bush pilot who’d slammed into a cliff in bad weather a couple years ago.
Damn, he had to keep his mind on this possible rescue that would, sadly, probably be a recovery. He yanked the guideline rope to be certain it was secure, then sat on the edge of the broken ice. The lake water made swirls and eddies as he put his legs in. He started breathing canned air, then let himself over the jagged edge into the dark, shifting depths.